Unchained
by xfandomwritingsx
Summary: When your crew captures Riddick, you risk letting him go. (2nd Person POV, Rated for Suggested Adult Themes.)


They have him tied up good; wrists chained and held up with metal shackles, blindfold, and bit. They have him sitting on the metal bench in the back of the ship, but he isn't slouched over, his head not slumping. He is sitting up straight, legs slightly apart. They hadn't shackled his ankles together. That was a mistake. If you're going to chain an animal, you need to chain all of it.

You approach him slowly in the dark room. You know from his posture that he's not asleep and you aren't stupid enough to think he didn't already know you were there. You move slowly anyways. If nothing else, you want to be quiet to make sure no one else wakes up.

"Riddick?" you speak softly as you stand in front of him. He makes no motion, no sound, but you know he heard you. "Stay still," you tell him and lean forward, reaching behind his shaven head to untie the blindfold. You can't even hear him breathing as your fingers loosen the knot and slip it over his head.

His silver eyes are open and staring at you. It makes you uneasy how cold and unreadable he is. He blinks slowly and won't move his eyes from yours. You feel a little paralyzed, unable to look away from him and unable to move away even though you know you're too close. There's a dozen different things he could do to from here, all of them painful.

You drop the blindfold into his lap and lift your fingers to trace his jaw to unlatch the bit. Even as you remove it and let it clatter on the floor, his expression doesn't change.

"I'm going to untie you," you whisper. Still no change so you shift your body and turn to his left wrist strung up in the air. You have to stand over him, his thigh between yours to reach the shackle. He suddenly chuckles darkly, his body relaxing, leg bumping into yours.

"Why would you go and do that?" he asks, low, husky voice filled with a black amusement. For some reason, his talking puts you a little more at ease.

"Because," you start as you dig the key out of your back pocket and start to work on his wrist. His skin is smooth and warm as you wrap your fingers around it to hold it steady. "I know who you are and I'm not stupid enough to underestimate you." The shackle unlocks, but you don't remove it from his wrist. He can do that himself if he wants. "And I'm hoping," you keep explaining while you move to stand over his right leg and unlock him. "That if I make it easy for you, you might not kill me on your way out."

You aren't lying. The crew you're with isn't the brightest of the bunch. They don't fully comprehend who Riddick is and what he's capable of. They just see him as a quick payday. You knew the moment they brought him in that he would escape and he'd probably kill every single person on the ship just for causing him the inconvenience of being sidetracked from whatever he was doing. You aren't exactly looking to lose your life anytime soon. And you know you wouldn't stand a chance against Riddick. You wouldn't say you're afraid. Rather that you're cautiously realistic.

When you fully unlock his wrist, his movements are quick, calculated. His thighs slam together, trapping your leg between firm muscle and throwing you slightly off balance. His hand you just freed, darts out and he wraps his fingers around your neck. Your own fingers wrap themselves around his wrist out of instinct, trying to pull his hand back, loosen his grip. Before you can even try to use your other hand to help your pull, he's got his stretched behind your back, tugging and twisting you until your knees collapse and he sits you on his lap, his mouth right by your neck.

"And what makes you think I'd spare you?" he growls. His grip doesn't restrict your airflow much, but makes you wheeze slightly when you try to speak. The pain in your shoulder is more troubling. If he gave one good yank, your shoulder would pop backwards out of the socket, possibly even shattering something along the way.

"Didn't think you would," you cough out. "But it was worth a shot." He breathes in deeply, nose pressing into your neck by his thumb. The edge of his nose travels up behind your ear, lips following its path shortly after. Your body shivers underneath his touch, purely animalistic in nature and equal parts terrifying and exciting. He rests his chin high on your shoulder at the soft junction between your collar bone and neck.

He's still got your leg pinned between his and you can feel him under you; feel his muscles flexing underneath your ass and practically wrapping around your own thigh. You try very hard not to focus on that, or on the way that if you shift just right, you can feel his cock resting against his leg. You try to focus on the pain in your arm, on the fingers digging lightly into your throat.

He releases the arm behind your back, but keeps it pinned tight between your back and his chest. You don't even consider attempting to move it. His hand reaches down to your waist and slides into your side holster. He removes the small pistol there and lifts it up to examine it. It's not your best gun, not by a longshot, but you knew he was going to strip you of all your weapons so there was no way you were going to bring your best. He brings it back behind him and slips it into his waistband, humming appreciatively in your ear.

His hand moves back to cradle your hip for just a moment before forcing its way into your pocket, his large hand pressing firmly against your leg, fingers inching around for the shiv he knows you have in there. He pries it out and slips it next to the gun. He then wraps his arm all the way around your waist, reaching to pat down your other pocket. Nothing there, but he keeps his arm there. Again, you try not to think about how every one of his appendages looks and feels _thick_.

He stands up easily, simply straightens his legs and glides upwards still keeping you firmly against his body, forcing you onto your feet as well. His head rises up past your neck, his stance quite a bit taller than yours. His fingers loosen around your neck the same time he puts his hand on your shoulder and shoves you forward.

You stumble and cough at the same time, grabbing at your throat as if you're going to soothe it. You quickly turn back to face him. If you're going to die, it's not going to be from getting stabbed in the back. You want to see it coming.

His eyes glisten in the dark, molten silver centers never leaving you, not chancing to look away. His lips form a thin, straight line across his face as his head tilts, observing you. You regain your breath and point to a bin in the corner.

"Your goggles and weapons are in there," you tell him. You had scoffed at the stupidity, but said nothing when your crew left those things in the room with him.

"Can you pilot?" he asks you and you nod quickly. "Then go and turn this ship around." He finally shifts his eyes from you and walks slowly up to the bin. He pulls out his goggles and straps them to his head, but doesn't pull them over his eyes just yet. He looks back over to you, a malicious smirk on his face. "I'm going to go wake the crew."


End file.
